


Child's Play

by StarlightAfterAStorm



Series: Good Morning Heartache [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Anthea's real name is Andrea, F/M, Molly and Anthea are besties, Molly's really introspective in this one, Only Molly knows that, Sherlolly Valentine’s Day Ficathon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-02-15
Packaged: 2018-01-12 11:55:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1185936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarlightAfterAStorm/pseuds/StarlightAfterAStorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A new game begins. And Jim has his eye on our lovely little morgue mouse. </p><p>In which Molly still thinks she doesn't count. Because she doesn't. Not to Sherlock. Not really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Child's Play

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OnginalMaz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnginalMaz/gifts).



> You said you wanted angst. I hope you're happy because you've prompted a whole new head canon. This is the first in a new SERIES. I hope you enjoy. THERE WILL BE MORE TO COME. 
> 
> HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY ONGINALMAZ

“Did you miss me?”

Oh, God.

The words. 

They haunt her. 

Over and over and over they loop again and again. 

She can’t even turn the monitor off. 

“Molly Hooper?” 

“Ah!” In her shock, Molly’s arm flails out and knocks over a stack of petri dishes. The firework of shattering glass joins the broken beaker she’d already dropped earlier. “Oh, God. I’m so sorry. What did you need?” 

The man at the door is unassuming at first glance. Dark hair and dark eyes in a nondescript blue packaging uniform. But there’s something about him that puts her on edge. She doesn’t know if it’s paranoia from Jim or something else. She’s never been particularly insightful when recognizing danger. Except when it comes to the Holmes brothers. 

The man holding the package smiles widely at her, holding out a nicely wrapped package out to her. 

“No problem Doctor Hooper. If you could just sign for this?” 

Molly gingerly makes her way across the room, trying to slow her heart rate. 

“Um, of course. Let me just... thank you.” 

‘Robert’ tips his hat to her before leaving, putting the package on the corner of her desk. Molly looks at him as she leaves and, in a flash, she understands why he set off her alarms. 

He holds himself like John does. Like a military man. 

Putting on a new pair of gloves and making sure not to jostle the box too much, Molly picks it up. She looks at the bottom, tilts it slightly, and holds it to hear ear. 

It’s a very pretty box. Wrapped in a soft buttery yellow paper with a baby blue bow. The accompanying card is a sweet mint green. All her favorite colors. Opening up the card, Molly’s breath catches and she has to remind herself not to scream:

 

_Molly, Molly_

_Oh by golly_

_How does your garden grow?_

_With broken stems_

_And bloody heads_

_Did you think I’d ever let you go?_

 

_J.M._

 

Whirling around with the card clenched in her hand, Molly grabs her cellphone. Taking a deep breath, she dials a now familiar number. She hopes, hopes, hopes that she’ll be able to reach him. 

“Hello? Mycroft? Yes, I’ve seen the video. I’ve just received a gift. It’s from him.”

Through the rush of blood in her ears, Molly can make out Mycroft giving her instructions. He will come as soon as he can. He is sending Andrea to her. Do not move the box any more than she already has. Do not let anyone else into the morgue. 

Molly quietly agrees before hanging up. She sits down at the corner of the lab table and stares at the package. She doesn’t know how long she sits there until Andrea comes in, her blackberry not in her hand for once. Instead she’s holding a cup from the coffee shop they like to frequent. She takes one look at Molly before going to clean up the glass.

Molly takes slow sips of the soothing drink, unsurprised to find that it’s not coffee but sweet, hot cider. Andrea comes up and takes the card away from her while she’s distracted by the taste of apples. She sighs in anger and puts the card down, glaring daggers at the box.

The two of them stay that way until the door is thrown open with a bang. The loud noise shocks Molly and her cider sloshes against the side of the cup. 

“Molly!” 

Sherlock Holmes strides in purposefully, his brother, John, and Mary following close behind. There is a manic gleam in his eyes as he looks her over.

“Oh. Hi. The box is over there.”

He doesn’t move from where he’s standing, still deducing her. 

“Are you alright?”

The question takes her off-guard. He rarely asks after a person’s well being when he can just deduce it for himself. And clearly, Molly isn’t injured or visibly upset.

“Yes, of course.”

The air between them is tense. Brittle. Like Sherlock’s the one who’s brought a bomb inside. 

These are the first words they’ve spoken to each other since that day all those months ago. When Sherlock walked into her lab high as a kite and Molly slapped him for it.

When he was in the hospital, Molly always made sure to visit when he was sleeping. And never alone. Always with Greg. Or Mrs. Hudson. Or Andrea. 

His jaw clenches and the string of tension winds tighter around all of them. He turns away abruptly and the string feels like it’s loosening around her throat. Still there but no longer choking her. 

“I... I don’t think it’s a bomb. Based on the card, it seems like he wants to start another game. With me.”

Mary reaches over to grasp Molly’s trembling hands. Andrea loops her arms over her shoulders and pulls her up off the chair. The two try to slowly coax Molly out of the lab. Mary makes sure to grab the quickly cooling cup of cider. 

“I’m fine An. Really I am. Mary, shouldn’t you be at home resting? I’m fine.”

“We know you are Molly, dear.” 

“Don’t patronize me An. I’m not a child!”

Sherlock and John’s heads shoot up in surprise. Mary pulls back a bit to look at her. Mycroft merely raises an eyebrow at her. Molly tilts her chin up, ready for a fight. Andrea only smiles and keeps leading her away

She murmurs comforting words to Moly the whole way to 221 B Baker Street, even as Molly loudly and angrily protests.

Molly continues to protest even as she’s sat down in Sherlock’s chair and Andrea runs out to get her more cider. 

Then she’s left alone with Mary. 

The air between them is still and Mary sits patiently in her husband’s chair, just waiting for Molly to start the conversation. 

“He didn’t even say goodbye to me, you know.”  

She doesn’t even have to say the name. Mary knows who she’s talking about. 

“Molly...”

“I know he was leaving today. An told me. But I guess that’s to be expected. It’s not like I count.”

“Of course you count!”

Molly looks at Mary with sad eyes. The blonde woman falls silent. 

“Do I? Mary, none of you have talked to me in months. After that fight in the lab, all of you got caught up in something big. Something secret that you all kept from the rest of us.”

She looks down at her hands, knuckles clenched white. 

“Which I get! I mean. I just.” She has to take a breath to steady herself. “None of you see it. It used to be just Sherlock and John. And now it’s Sherlock, John, and Mary. You shut everyone out and keep your secrets and you must have had good reasons. I understand that. I do. I kept my own secret for two years.”

There are tears prickling the corners of her eyes and Molly fiercely blinks them away. She takes a few more deep breaths and clenches her jaw tightly. She will not cry. 

“But I thought we were friends, Mary. Just a little bit. The _only_ reason I’m even talking to you now is because of Jim. Because I’m in love with a man who asked me to help fake his death and I said _yes_. And now I’m being targeted for it.”

“Do you,” Mary’s voice is deliberately soft, hesitant even, “regret loving him?”

Does she?

She’s angry at him. Exasperated. Sorrowful. But does she regret it? 

“Sometimes. Sometimes I think the line between hate and love is too close for me to distinguish.”

Mary only nods sadly. 

Andrea returns. 

They wait. 

Mrs. Hudson comes up at some point to cluck motherly at them but Molly doesn’t pay her any mind. She curls up in Sherlock’s chair and thinks about what’s about to come. If Jim is intent on her being dead, she’ll probably end up dead. Despite what Sherlock thinks, he can’t save everybody. Not without paying a price.

She knows he’s willing to pay that price to ensure the safety of the small group of people that he cares about. He paid that price when he disappeared those two years. And then again when he was exiled, _sent on a suicide mission_. Neither of those times was Molly included. 

And for good reason. 

Those people mean so much more than plain little Mousy Molly. The only reason Jim’s coming after her is because she was part of the team that helped Sherlock fake his death. It wasn’t even all that much really. Just found the lookalike body and forged some papers. That’s all really. 

Little Mousy Molly. The girl who doesn’t count. Not really. She’s spent so many years letting Sherlock Holmes take advantage of her with his pretty words and his pretty face. How can she believe him when he says she’s important? That she deserves happiness. 

She can’t.

So she doesn’t. 

She’ll just keep letting him break her heart again and again and _again_. 

Until Jim Moriarty comes to stop it. With poison or by knife or by bullet. Jim Moriarty is coming for Molly Hooper. 

 

 

 


End file.
